Date: Fri, 17 Apr 2015 09:44:46 +1030
From: Robert A. Armstrong <rob.aa@hotmail.com>
Subject: Schoolie - Chapter 41

If you are new to this story, may I suggest that you read patiently from
the beginning, to understand the plot and the characters.

If you are a regular, thank you for your continued interest!

Warning: If relationships between boys and men is not your scene, or if
you're under age, or if it is not legal for you to be reading this, then
please leave, now, before somebody finds out!

Otherwise, enjoy!



From Chapter 40


After lights-out, we are awake for a long time.

I've got to fix that squeaking spring!

Will finally spoons up to me and whispers in my ear, "So did you and Kurt
do anything?"



Chapter 41

I'm shocked that he would ask me that! But then, being Will, I'm not
exactly surprised. However, I now have another dilemma to deal with - do I
honour my word to the young boy, or do I tell the truth to the one whose
magnetism attracts my steeliness? Or can I avoid the truth without lying?

"Huh?... What?" I mumble, trying to sound as if I didn't hear the question.

This time he doesn't whisper. "I said, did you and Kurt do anything? He was
over at the school for a long time and I know that there wasn't an hour's
work to be done in the place. Maybe not half!"

I wonder whether Kurt said something when he promised that he wouldn't. Why
would he? No! Will is just fishing. Think quick, Tom!

"He was very helpful," I tell Will. "He tidied up the storeroom and craft
room and made sure that everything was in its right place, while I prepared
some activities for the little kids. Then we talked for a while about his
dad's job and about you and Karl before we heard the truck horn. Why?"

"What about me and Karl?" Will, thankfully, takes the bait and changes
focus.

"Oh, nothing important," I say, teasing him, and knowing that he will
pursue this line of questioning, now even moreso.

"What did Kurt say about Karl and me?" Will is a little more insistent. He
reaches around and takes hold of my balls. "Tell me, or it could be
painful!" Outwardly I'm submissive to his `friendly persuasion'. Inwardly
I'm laughing.

"OK! He said that you and Karl often disappear together, leaving him by
himself. I thought that you always do everything with both of them at the
same time. Kurt thinks that he's missing out on something. Is that true?"

There is a momentary silence. "Umm..." Will says and he releases his grip
on me.

"So, it's true, in other words," I say. "Your lack of a response is a
confession!" I reach behind me. "Come on. Spill the beans, or it's your
balls that will pay!"

"Hey. I do play with both Karl and Kurt," Will starts. "And I taught them
both to jack off, didn't I?"

"But, Karl gets a bit extra on the side, does he?" I lightly tighten my
grip.

"Yeh, well, he always wants more! Kurt's happy to spurt once - like
you. Karl can do it two or three times - like me - and he stays stiff
pretty much the whole time. So rather than just do it in front of Kurt, we
go somewhere by ourselves for a while. Kurt knows, and he doesn't
care. Karl said so."

He giggles.

"What?" I ask

"I make lots of precum and he loves to rub my shaft with it `till I
spurt. And he likes to play with my balls while I jack him off."

"What does Kurt like?" I put to him.

"Why don't you ask Kurt?" Will says, reaching around me again.

"Because it's easier and less embarrassing to ask you!" I tell him, again
tightening my grip. Then I add, "Hey! You've got nice balls!" He giggles.

"That's what Karl says, but Kurt really prefers to play with my cock."
There is a pause. "So, did you do anything with him?"

In my mind I knew that he wouldn't let this go. I've had some thinking time
to prepare my answer. "When I said that I needed to visit the toilet, Kurt
came too. He stood next to me and we peed together. He made a big show of
displaying his cock and balls to me and he kept checking out mine, close
up! He said that it looked just like yours. He seemed really happy."

Now I know that this is the truth, even if it's nowhere near the whole
truth.

Will pauses. "Hmm, yeh, well that would explain the goofy grin on his face
when he came back," Will says. "I could tell that he didn't just stack
books and move chairs!"

I am about to doze off when Will says, "Kurt really like you, you know!"

"Yeh, well, let's talk about that some other time," I mutter. "For now, I
need to sleep. You've worn me out."

"OK, old man," he says, and kisses my neck. "Ouch!" he complains through
gritted teeth.

"Yep, you've got nice, firm balls all right," I tell him, and smile to
myself in the dark.

I wake to the smell of breakfast cooking. I can feel Will's body heat
behind me.

But something is wrong! It's dark. What is Marty doing, cooking breakfast
in the middle of the night? I check the time, which is immediately
confirmed by the community of kookaburras.

Why is it dark? I ease myself away from Will (who emits a low groan before
rolling prostrate into the warm spot where I was on the `magic mattress')
and I venture towards the kitchen, still a little bleary-eyed and confused.

Marty is unusually chirpy - as he is on a Saturday morning before visiting
his friends in Big Town.

"G'day, sunshine!" he says. "Great morning, eh?"

"What is going on?" I mumble. "Why is it so dark?"

"Lots of cloud," he almost sings. "It all came up during the night."

"So?" I put to him in typical city-boy-ignoramus fashion.

He stops. Then I hear, "For a schoolie, you're not so bright sometimes," he
throws at me, restraining a laugh. I stare at him. He stares back, waiting
for a single LED to come on in my head. "What comes in clouds?" he asks me,
with the attitude of a patient teacher to a dull student.

"I dunno!" I respond. "What? Water?"

"Exactly, good boy!" he congratulates me and pats me like one of his
dogs. I could become miffed at his condescending attitude, but then it
dawns on me - the possibility of rain! Drought-breaking rain. Life-saving
rain. Prayer-answering rain. Construction-delaying rain!

Do you know how long it's been since it last rained here?" he asks. What a
stupid question to ask someone who's only been here for just over three
months, with no knowledge of local history and meteorology! "1,872 days!"
he continues. "I worked it out. So what do you think of that?"

"Think of what? Your ability to count past 11 with your hands in your
pockets, or something else?" I put to him.

He frowns and points his wooden spoon at me menacingly, gun-like. He lowers
it to point at my balls and says, "Pow!" enacting an appropriate firearm
recoil. "If I thought you were serious, I'd get my shotgun out of the spare
room!" he chirps. I smile back, clutching at my intact jewels in mock
injury.

"That's more than five years," I say, having done a quick mental
calculation.

"Right on!" he replies and returns to the stove.

"Do you know what that means?" I ask. He stops and stares at me with a look
of exasperation. I continue, "Some of the youngest kids may have never seen
rain!"

"And many of the animals, too," he adds.

I think that my science curriculum for the coming term has just been laid
out before me.

Marty continues to give me a lesson in the effects of rain on a
drought-burdened community. "Fodder will grow; cattle will eat; farmers
will have work; owners will make money; shopkeepers will be paid their
dues; the river will rise; the flat plain will become a lake; the road will
turn to a quagmire and you won't be able to drive that cute little city car
of yours into The Village. It's OK. You'll get fit, walking. If
Michelangelo can do it, so can you. Oh, and you may need a good pair of
gumboots. And.." he pauses for breath.

"What? There's more?" I ask trying to digest his information and its many
consequences.

He carries on, "That's when we discover where the holes are in the roofs,
how long it takes our wet, favourite clothes to dry, how reliable our cars
are, how quickly mold can grow and how good your health is. Oh, and
there'll probably be a mouse plague because the conditions are right. And
then..."

"Stop!" I tell him. "I've hoped and prayed for rain. Now I might have to
work out if I can reverse that - if it's not too late already!"

"We desperately need rain and we'll happily put up with the side effects,"
Marty tells me. He adds, chuckling, "You and Michelangelo could always ride
horses to school. He'd love that. He's good on a horse."

"Not as good as you, I suppose," I tell him, attempting to give his ego a
bit of a stroke. However, somehow it just sounds like sarcasm.

"Better!" he replies. "Even though I hate to admit it! He was taught by
Uncle Reg who might not look like it now but when he was young, was the
best horseman in the district, Mum says. He tried to teach me but didn't
have the same success as he did with `Little Willie'. Uncle Reg described
him as `a natural'. You'll see him one day - probably soon. It's beautiful
to watch him and the horse move as one."

"I had no idea," I tell Marty. "I know that he likes horses but Will has
never mentioned that he can ride."

"You'll find that his riding skill is probably even better than his
artwork," Marty replies.

"Wow! The only horse that I've ever sat on was part of a carousel at a
carnival," I confess.

He laughs at that. Then, when I maintain my passive expression, the smirk
disappears from his face, and then he adds, seriously, "You are
joking... aren't you?"

"No," I tell him, blank-faced.

Will emerges, still displaying the slackening remnant of his `morning
glory'. "What's happening?" he asks, uncertain of which area of his body
requires scratching the most.

Marty jumps in, "Do you mean the cloud outside, or the fact that the city
slicker, Mr Schoolie, here, has never been on a horse, apart from a wooden
one?"

"As if!" Will shoots back. "It's a bit too early yet to start messing with
my head, Marty, don't you think?"

"It's true!" Marty says. "Ask him!"

Will turns his open-mouthed gaze upon me. "You're both having me on, aren't
you?" he finally puts to me, with a slight sneer in Marty's direction.

"Sorry, chum. He's right," I tell him. "I've never even sat on a real
horse, let alone ride one."

"Well... fuck me!" Will drawls to nobody in particular, then swings quickly
to Marty adding, "And, hey! That was not an invitation!"

He turns to me and, with a look of disbelief, asks, "How could you not have
ever...?"

"Hey!" I cut him off. "Had you ever ridden a Boogie Board or a surfboard
until two weeks ago?"

"That's different!" he protests. "Everybody here has ridden horse, and..."
He stops.

"And every guy where I live has ridden a board," I smile at him.

He stares at me and I can almost see a pair of scales behind his eyes,
weighing up both pieces of information. The emerging grin on his face takes
on a mischievous, almost evil, aspect.

"So, you'd like to learn to ride a horse, eh?" he asks slowly and
deliberately.

I reply, after swallowing hard, "Sure! If you can learn to ride a board in
a day, I'll have a go at a horse. You just have to sit on it and it goes,
right? Or do you have to say `giddy-up' first?"

Will looks hard at Marty, who says nothing. Is that a laugh he's trying to
stifle behind his smirk?

"I can ask Jake if it's OK with Uncle Reg for next Saturday. We can go up
there while Marty's in town doing some bareback riding of his own," Will
says cheekily. Marty gives him the finger.

"Good. I look forward to that!" I tell them both, looking from one to the
other.

"I'm almost tempted to stay here and watch," Marty grins.

Will looks at me and asks, "Hey, our tablets can take movies as well as
photos, can't they?"

I think of giving give him his second `finger' for the morning but,
instead, comment, "I don't care. You don't know how to take movies yet." I
should know that challenging Will is not the way to get him to back down.

"Maybe I should ring Jarrod then," he says confidently.

I am suddenly feeling very exposed, and not because of my current lack of
clothing!

"Breakfast is ready," Marty announces. Then he laughs, "A carousel horse! I
can't wait to see Uncle Reg's face."

We eat, and I endure all manner of aspersions, to Will and Marty's great
mirth and entertainment.



"Good morning Mr Grant," the cherubs all chant tunefully and in unison.

We spend a good deal of time with everyone telling of their holiday
experiences.

When young David has completed a quick rundown of the time spent with his
grandparents, he asks the question: "Did, um, Will, you know...? Did your
girlfriend...?"

I fill in the gaps for him. "What you want to know, David, is could my
girlfriend tell us apart, and did she kiss him?"

Everyone giggles.

"You tell them, Will." I pass the buck to him.

"Not once!" he says, forcing a pout to hide his amusement. The smile fades
on David's face, but grows on that of the twins and Jane and Jake, all
twigging to Will's choice of words. Then, after a pause, he adds, "Three
times!"

The whole class erupts in the pandemonium of hoots and cat calls and some
whistles, all led by the senior students.

When the noise dies down, David asks me, "What did you do, Mr Grant?"

"I didn't say much, David," I tell him and the others, "but I did take him
down to the ocean to feed him to the sharks!" They gasp.

"Did they eat him?" one of the little girls asks.

"Yep. All of him," I tell her. They all ponder the fact that if he was
eaten, how could he be here? I add, "And he tasted so bad that the big
shark spat him back out and told me to keep him!" That's a cause for great
laughter, and some back-slapping of Will by those nearest to him.

I notice Will make multiple teeth impressions on his arm then he swings
around and displays it to the younger ones. "See, Susanna, I still have the
marks where it tasted me!" he says. There are more gasps. The senior boys
chuckle amongst themselves.

By the expressions on some of the younger faces, I'm sure that the story of
`William and the Shark' will be repeated in a few homes tonight, with its
credibility and veracity attested to by the fact that `Mr Grant said so!'

Karl, Kurt, Jake and Will all take time to summarise their highlights.

Jane crowns herself `Miss Unpopularity' when, at her turn, she concludes
with the announcement, "Jake's got a girlfriend!"

It's not just looks that could kill! Jake's desire for absolute murder is
exuded by every pore of his body. Only for the fact that I'm standing near
him, I'm sure that he would immediately like to dispatch her to the
afterlife. In fact, if Jake was an exponent of telekinesis, I'm certain
that every sharp object in the building, including all of the craft tools,
would now have his sister looking like one of their mother's sewing pin
cushions.

The previous cat calls for Will are now repeated for Jake, whose mood and
the grey skies outside are the only things in harmony at the
moment. Looking as though he is about to burst into tears, Jake drops his
face to the desk and provides his head with as much of a hiding place as
his two arms can offer.

After momentary solitude, his head emerges and snarls at his sister, "Why
don't you tell them about your boyfriend!"

More hoots!

Disappointed at his sister's lack of embarrassment, Jake returns his face
to its seclusion. Will places a consoling arm across Jake's shoulders.

I look at my watch. Now would be a good time to take an early
recess. Nobody objects.

Jake remains in his seat. Will stays with him. I join everyone else
outside. Knowing the extent of their friendship, I'm sure that Will and
Jake have a few things to discuss - better to do it now rather than
delaying it.

Two distinct groups have formed in the playground: all of the girls around
Jane, and the boys around Karl and Kurt and David. While the girls are
happy and animated, the mood of the others, huddled together with
occasional glances at the girls, appears more sombre, almost
conspiratorial.

Without an excessive time lapse, Will and Jake emerge. Jake seems to have
recovered his composure. They are both smiling and head straight towards
the boys' toilet without acknowledging anyone else.

Karl and Kurt make to follow them but I call the pair of them back. "Hey,
guys. Just give Jake a few minutes to wash his face. OK?"

"Yes, Mr Grant," they reply compliantly and wait until the older two are on
their way back before they `ambush' them.

Leaving Jake with the twins, Will continues towards me and comments, "It's
all good. He's OK. I'll tell you later." Then he rejoins his friends.

The rest of the day runs smoothly, even though Jake and Jane avoid each
other.

I hear Reg's Land Rover approaching and I'm able to meet him at the gate as
he pulls up. Jane climbs into the front passenger's seat and Jake piles
into the back - as usual. I motion to Reg that I'd like him to come and
chat. Leaving the car door fully open, he steps out and I walk with him to
a position some metres behind the car where we will not easily be
overheard.

I start, "Reg, we had a bit of an issue this morning." He looks at me in
surprise. "All of the kids were sharing about their holidays and Jane
embarrassed Jake by disclosing the existence of a girlfriend. He was
extremely upset about it and retaliated by snapping at her to tell everyone
about her boyfriend. Is everything OK between the two of them at home?"

He pushes the brim of his beaten-up old hat off his forehead and back onto
his head, then replies, "The brother of Jane's friend in Big Town has taken
a liking to her, it seems. That would be the `boyfriend'. Not only that,
but their next-door neighbour, a girl about Jane's age, appears to like
Jake, and always comes outside to see if Jake is there when I drop Jane
off. It's all new to Jake and he's like a fish out of water when it comes
to talking to girls. Jane delights in watching him flap and squirm by
mentioning this `girlfriend' at every opportunity. I think that the girl is
more infatuated with him than he is interested in her."

He continues, "Although Jane seems to thrive on the boy's attention, Jake
it mortified by any mention of a girlfriend at the moment. I expect that
the embarrassment will pass." Then he adds, "...hopefully! Just between you
and me," he continues, lowering his voice a tad, "when I picked them both
up the other day after I had done some shopping, Jane, her friend and the
brother were all sitting on the front step. Jake was talking to the
neighbour across their common fence, as he usually does. When he turned
around I saw the tent in the front of his jeans which might indicate that
he's not totally disinterested. I didn't say anything to him, and I don't
think he realised that I had seen it. It was bound to happen sooner or
later. He's just at that age isn't he?"

Reg then (uncharacteristically) jokes, "I'm sure that you, being so young,
can remember those first stirrings far more easily than my ageing memory
allows." I slap him on the back and chuckle at his boldness without
commenting!

"Have you spoken with him about `everything'?" I ask.

"No, actually," He replies. "I'm sure that he knows the `basics' of it all
from watching the horses and the cattle, but me talking with him about
girls and feelings and relationships isn't going to be easy... for either
of us!"

"I might be able to help, Reg," I tell him. "I am certain that Will is
ready for that discussion as well. How would you feel about me giving them
both the `big brother' talk at the same time? They'd probably feel more
comfortable if they were both there together." I add, "In fact, I wouldn't
be surprised if they had already chatted a little about it. Will spent a
bit of time alone with Jake after Jane's `bombshell' and was able to
restore Jake's normally-happy disposition fairly quickly. Think about
it. I'll sound out Will tonight."

"Thanks, Tom." Reg says, shaking my hand. "The parents, as well as the
kids, are lucky to have you as the Schoolie. I hope that you're around for
a long time."

"I'm already learning to love the place, Reg. All I need now is to learn to
ride a horse."

That stops him in his tracks.

"Sorry?" he says. "Did you say...?"

"Yes," I tell him. "I've never ridden a horse. We `city slickers' don't get
to do that!"

He lets out a long, low whistle. "Well, we should do something about that!
We can't have the Schoolie not knowing how to do something that all of the
kids can do!"

He heads towards the car then turns to me. "I'll do you a deal," he
says. "If you will do all the birds `n' bees stuff with Jake, then I'll
teach you to ride, myself. Want to get started this weekend?"

I think about it. Hard! But not for long.

"How about this," I propose. "Marty's going into town Saturday morning, If
Will picks up Jake, I can have `the talk' with them at home. Then I'll
leave them to amuse themselves and drive up to your place for whatever you
might have in store for me."

"Will they be OK by themselves?" he asks.

I comment, "It won't be the first time that they've been alone for a while,
will it? And they're not little kids any more, Reg. Besides, I think that I
could be in much more trouble than they will be."

"You're right," he chuckles, and we walk back to the driver's door. Reg
kicks the `old girl' into life and they chug away. I return the kids'
waves.

The three boys have locked the windows. I grab a few things from my desk as
Will and Karl head for the door. Kurt follows, a little tardily. I help him
out of the door with a friendly smack to his cheeky young backside. He
turns momentarily and shoots me the cutest of grins, almost communicating
appreciation, then, with a couple of quick skips, he joins the other
two. The lock on the door clunks as I turn the old key.

The twins head across the field of weeds on what is almost a discernible
track.

"Look out for snakes!" I call.

"Not many around now with the cooler weather almost upon us," Will says
quietly, delivering yet another lesson in country life to his city-slicker
look-alike.

He drives (of course).

"So, what happened with Jake?" I ask. I'd prefer to hear the details before
we get to Marty's. Jake doesn't need to have Marty teasing him as well as
his sister!

"No big deal, really," Will says. "Apparently, the next-door neighbour of
Jane's friend has taken a liking to him. He doesn't mind talking to her but
Jane teases him that she's his girlfriend. Jake said they only ever talk
across the low front fence, but his real problem is that whenever he stands
near her, he gets a stiffy and he doesn't want her to see it. Or Jane! Can
you imagine what she might say to her young brother if she actually saw him
with an erection? He's dead-set scared of her!"

"What did you say to him?" I ask. "You seemed to calm him down fairly
quickly."

"I asked him whether he was more concerned about his uncontrollable cock or
about his uncontrollable sister. He laughed at that and said, `Definitely,
Jane!' I also told him that his body was just telling him that he likes
girls, or that particular girl even if he didn't think so, and that he
shouldn't worry about it because his `girlfriend' wouldn't! Then he punched
me."

"What did you do?" Now I'm curious.

"I grabbed his gear and told him that one day he'd probably prefer a girl
to jack it off instead of me. He shrugged and just laughed, `maybe' then he
was OK after that and we came outside."

Then Will asks me, "Tom, Jake isn't gay, like me, is he?"

"Probably not," I tell him. "But why would you even ask me that?"

"Because I can't feel what he feels. It makes me sad that I don't
understand what he's going through. I never get stiff around a girl, only
other guys - like Marty and Jake and you." He adds, "And the horses when I
see their long pizzles."

I have to tell him, "Will, just because guys muck around with other guys,
especially if they are around the age of Jake and the twins, it doesn't
mean they are gay. For some guys `mucking around' is just part of them
getting to understand their own body by playing with someone else's. Some
end up liking only girls. Others, like Marty, can be happy with either. And
there are those, like you, who have only one preference - guys! Lucky me!"

He laughs, then asks, in all innocence, "What about you, Tom?"

"To be truthful, Will," I start, "I tried mucking around with girls, but my
`little friend' down below didn't seem too interested. But whenever I was
near a hot guy, especially if he was in Speedos, it always woke up pretty
quickly. Lucky you!"

Then I add, "Maybe Jake will like girls; maybe he'll like both. So, until
he finds out, you two should still be able to play with each other, if he
wants to. You should tell him that too. Maybe he's afraid of losing you as
a friend and `playmate' if you were to think that he only likes girls now."

"Tom," Will says, seriously, "really, do you mind if I continue to play
with Jake? I like making him happy. You should see him just before he
spurts. His whole body goes stiff and he as this painfully happy look on
his face - if it's possible to describe it that way. It doesn't change you
and me, does it?"

"Not one little bit, kiddo," I answer. "And, by all means, you and Jake can
continue to make each other happy! I've come to the conclusion that you
need a whole lot more of `happiness' than I do."  He smiles at my
acknowledgment. "And, you've also got Karl and Kurt. Then there's Luke (in
the Gold Coast) and horse-boy Sam (at the motel) and Rocco (Tony's hairy
cousin). And, let's not forget Jarrod. Hmm. Yeh. Jarrod's in a different
category. We need to talk about him and us some more. Hey! You certainly
get to make a lot of different people happy, don't you??" I add, smiling.

"And, there's you!" Will says, with some finality to the list.

"Yeh. Definitely me! It doesn't change us. Come to think of it... about all
those playmates of yours... you've been a busy little..."

"Hey, what about you?" Will interrupts. "You've got Simon and Tony
and... and..."

I leave him time to try to add to his list. "Looks like you win!" I tell
him. I don't mention the interlude with Sam's little brother, Mikey, nor my
`alone time' with Kurt.

"I suppose, if we're counting, we could both include Marty, couldn't we?"
he asks.

"And Joey and young Andy at the beach." I reply.

The reality suddenly hits me. We're just a pair of horny young male bimbos!
It's not a word that I relish, but how else could I describe us? Active?
Promiscuous (or does that only apply to fucking)? This isn't a situation
that I've wished for, it just sort of ... happened!

I feel that I definitely need to arrest this moral decline! But, who can I
give up? Will? No way! Marty? Possibly. After all, he has `him' and `her'
with whom to release his pent-up emotion and juices! Kurt? I definitely
should give him up, but that would hurt him so badly! Simon? Maybe. Tony?
He needs me too! Mikey? Only if Will can stop with Sam! What are the odds?

I know that `life wasn't meant to be easy' but I'm sure that it wasn't
meant to be so complicated either! Maybe Will and I can buy or rent a
tropical island and spend the rest of our lives just fucking each other
senseless (without all of the other wonderful distractions). Nice plan!
Nice dream! Not going to happen! We'll have to make the new home our
island. But, then, why are we including guest rooms? Nice visitors!

Suddenly, it seems, we have arrived home. "Don't mention anything to Marty
about Jake," I urge Will.

"Of course not!" he retorts" Marty can be a cruel bastard when he wants to
be, sometimes even without trying! Jake doesn't need that!"

Over dinner we relate some of the holiday experiences of the cherubs to
Marty. In return, he shares that, apart from the `conveniences', the
cottage behind his Mum's place is ready for `habitation'.

We talk about the fact that the grey clouds have dissipated, without
depositing so much as a drop of moisture on the landscape. "But, that's not
a bad sign," Marty fills us in. "I can still remember when the last drought
broke. It happened just like this - clouds for a couple of weeks and then,
`Whammo!' Down it came! You'd better take the opportunity to buy some
boots. You'll definitely need them after the rain starts." He adds, "Why
don't you both also get a Driza-Bone in Big Town."

"Hell, yeh! That'd be so cool," Will adds. "I've always wanted one of
those!"

"What bone?" I ask, again showing my rural ignorance.

Marty gives me one of those looks! He takes a deep breath and says, very
calmly, even spelling the word, "Driza-Bone... is like a... raincoat, only
much more effective. I'm sure that you would have seen stockmen in movies
wearing them. They're designed so that they can be worn while riding a
horse. They're oiled to make them waterproof. Hang on!" he says, and
disappears towards his room and returns wearing a heavy dark brown
coat. "See! They make them long like this for horsemen, and they have
shorter versions for people who only ride on a carousel"

He laughs. So does Will. I don't mind their humour. "I suppose, I'd better
get a long one then, I spruik. "I think my carousel days are over!"

I try on Marty's coat. Very comfortable. And I like the extra layer of
material around the shoulders; it's sort-of like giant lapels that continue
all the way round. This bit almost looks like my grandma's fur stole, only
without the fur! I vaguely remember Englishmen in a Sherlock Holmes movie
wearing something of similar style. Marty explains how useful this is in
driving rain to help keep the wearer dry. I decide to check them out
on-line before going to sleep. (Well, before going to bed, that is. I'm
unlikely to go straight to sleep when I hop into bed with Will.)

While Marty is replacing his coat, I ask Will in a low voice, "So who's
brushing his teeth tonight? I'm fine either way."

"You then," he answers. So tonight, he's on top! I'm looking forward to
feeling his youthful energy being expended on me and in me. LOL.

It's not that late when Marty, instead of his simple `Good Night' says,
"Have a good night, guys." There is an implication of activity. Cheeky
bugger!

"You, too, Marty," I reply. Then I add, "Try to get some sleep too, eh?"

He winks. I wink back.

After `brushing my teeth' then cleaning and packing away the enema kit, I
find Will still dressed, checking emails.

He looks up. "Dad reminded me that he'll be here tomorrow, but he didn't
say what time."

Oh, no! I forgot to check the accommodation availability with the pub. I'll
duck across from the school in the morning and organise something. And I
haven't had a chat with Marty about the work, either. I can do that at
breakfast. And, I should check my emails in the morning, in case there is
something important there. But, for now, I have other things on my mind.

Will has, too. He shuts down his tablet, puts it aside, removes his shoes
by holding the heel of each one with the toes of his other foot and then
flicks off his socks. He is about to remove his shirt when I stop him.

"Hey! May I do that?" I ask him. He doesn't answer (or, more correctly,
doesn't have time to answer) before I wrap my arms around him from behind
and kiss his neck. I know that he loves this. He shudders. I continue to
stimulate each side of his neck and nibble on his ear lobes. His moan
indicates that I should keep going and I feel the towel below my waist
rising away from my body, pressing against his backside.

I run both hands down his muscular body. One rises back up under his shirt
and my palm caresses his pec muscles and nipple. The other continues down
and rests on the front of his jeans. Firmness! Roundness! Big-ness!

I use both hands under his shirt to stimulate his skin, alternating between
tickling and lightly rubbing it until I feel his body start to tremble with
gooseflesh. His nipples are hard. I lift his shirt over his head and
discard it. I turn him to face me. We spend some considerable time
savouring the touch of each other's hands on our skin and in rubbing our
bodies together.

I cup his firm glutes and knead them, working with first one hand and then
the other, while undoing his belt, buttons and zipper. His jeans slip down
his thighs and over his knees, and I feel his body. And rub it. And savour
it. Back and front. Tight glutes. Stiff cock. I insert my thumbs into the
waistband of his underpants and very slowly ease them down, exposing first
his hairiness and then his firm tube of flawless man-flesh. At the same
time he releases the tucked-in part of the towel around my waist. It
doesn't drop. It's hanging on my rigid man-peg!

I bend down to remove all of his bunched clothing and he steps free, fully
naked. While I'm here I kiss his cock head and give it a friendly lick. As
I stand, he ensures that my towel remains behind by planting one of his
feet on one corner of it on the floor.

We look at each other. Mirror images. Our hands caress where they roam. Our
swords joust amiably of their own volition. We kiss.

He lays down the towels and then himself. He reaches for the
strategically-placed lube.

I lay face-down then raise my hips slightly. He prepares me, liberally -
hole, crack and thighs. He pulls me to him and assumes his favourite
position behind me and starts to slide, between my thighs, under my balls
and then up my crack. His cock, of its own desire, searches for my hole but
each time it finds me, Will pulls away and continues to slide ... up,
through, down.

Me motions me back onto my stomach and he lays himself on me, continuing
his range of sliding motions. I sometimes feel his cock halfway up my back,
sometimes down near my knees. He slides and pokes. I savour his wiry pubes
each time they brush my butt.

On one of many upward slides his cock head gets `stuck' at the entrance to
my hole. Will urges it forwards, slowly. I raise my hips and pull apart my
cheeks to assist. Forward. Slowly. Inward. Slowly. Right in! Wiry pubes on
enthusiastic butt cheeks.

A couple of thrusts, and he rolls to the side, taking me with him, into the
`favourite spooning position'. He hugs up against me as tightly as he can
and then his hips commence a rocking motion, thrusting his pleasure tool
deeper, then shallower, then deep again. I raise my hips towards my chest
and he goes deep. Very deep.

I manoeuvre into a situation where every push and withdrawal rubs over my
prostate. We synchronise movements and breathing. I moan. He groans.

"You'd better cum soon," I gasp at him after many enjoyable minutes,
"because I can't hold back much longer."

He increases his tempo to rabbit speed and begins to grunt. I stop
breathing. I can't hold on! I let fly into the towel. As my glutes contract
and my anal muscles grip him vice-like, I feel him explode. His whole body
spasms uncontrollably. I feel his fluid heat fill me. I reach behind me,
grasping his glutes and I roll onto my stomach. He's on me. He cries out,
as if mortally wounded, continuing to spasm, and then he collapses his
whole weight onto my back.

At some stage I resume breathing. His nose and mouth are near my ear. His
puffing slows.

OMG. Where did that passion come from? Who would know that love-making
could be this beautiful?

Aware that my body has been able to provide him with such intense pleasure,
I start to cry.


To be continued...

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